


Then, Now and Never (Part 1)

by QuietDarkness



Series: Simplicity and Complexity (Harrisco) [53]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 08:27:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14930730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietDarkness/pseuds/QuietDarkness
Summary: The Fallen Watcher's experiment with Harry and Cisco begins. A terrible, hidden and painful part of Harry's past is revealed.Axiom might have some secrets of his own. And it may turn out that darkness may not always be a bad thing...'Opposites don't just attract. They catch fire and burn the entire city down.'(Part 53)





	Then, Now and Never (Part 1)

**Author's Note:**

> (Warning: mentions of death and war, PTSD, lots of angst and anguish.)

“Let me see if I understand this...” Barry mused out loud, turning his Jitter's disposable coffee cup in his hand with a slight smirk on his face, “You were arguing with Coster... while naked...” Iris nudged him in the ribs, hard, and he laughed. “What?!” He motioned to Cisco and Harry on the other side of the table, “I mean, come on, you have to admit, that's pretty funny.”

“That's your takeaway. Out of everything we told you.” Cisco said, hands flat, fingers tapping the tabletop lightly. They were all sitting in the dining room, just off the kitchen. Harry liked that they actually had one to sit in now and not just a counter with stools. It also meant he could stretch out his legs. Which he did. And he kicked Barry in the shin for the hell of it. The speedster jumped and grimaced.

“Ow!” He yipped, and Harry narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms and relaxing in his chair. “Alright, jeez.” 

“You asked for that.” Iris said, smiling in amusement and curling her hands around her own coffee. Ramon shook his head, a barely visible smile ghosted on his lips.

“What I want to know is how you two understood a language that you don't speak.” Caitlin remarked, coming into view as she set down a tray of sandwiches and some paper plates. She sat to Iris' other side, scooting her chair in. “Any idea what language it was?”

“No. We can't even tell you what it sounds like.” Harry commented in slight annoyance, glancing at Ramon, who met his gaze quietly. 

“We just know it wasn't English.” Cisco looked back at the others. “Don't ask how. Cause we don't know that, either.”

“Okay...” Caitlin said, hand pausing momentarily over a tuna sandwich, then she plucked it up, putting it on a plate and setting it in front of her. “Can you tell us what he said? More than, 'it was some sort of stupid poetry.'” She side-eyed Ramon. He frowned and crossed his arms this time, practically mimicking Harry, who raised a brow.

“It's okay if you don't remember all of it. Just... give us the gist.” Iris offered, bringing her cup to her lips and sipping after. Then everyone grew quiet, waiting. Harry and Cisco exchanged glances. The truth was... they remembered all of it. Word for word. Like somehow Coster had burned it into their brain matter. Problem was, when they spoke it out loud... it didn't come out in English. It came out in a strange, really eclectic tongue that only the two of them seemed to be able to make out. Ramon had even recorded it on his phone, to listen to it. To their ears, it sounded normal. It all made sense, every damn word. But they knew that to everyone else, it would just be jibberish.

“Even if they do, you won't ever be able to make sense of it.” Hope said, standing near the slightly open window, a touch of a warm breeze wafting in every now and then. She wasn't looking at anyone. She'd been standing there, arms crossed, face unreadable, since they'd all arrived. Harry watched her like he could will her to elaborate. She turned just her head, eyes roaming the faces around the table, stopping at his before looking back out the window. “If I'm correct, it's not a language humans speak.”

“Except we're both human, and we're both not only understanding it, but able to speak it.” Cisco spoke up. He uncrossed his arms and reached for a sandwich with a sigh, plopping a paper plate down in front of him. “He did something to us. I want to know what.”

“He woke you up.” Hope said with a sigh, turning to look at everyone dead on, then. She crossed her arms as she paced toward the table. “Nothing more.” Harry frowned a little, staring up at her, clenching his jaw idly.

“Woke us up.” He said softly, but there was anger in his tone. He couldn't help it. “Alright...” he uncrossed his arms, pushed up from his chair, the feet of the wood dragging against the hard floor harshly, making everyone either jump or cringe as he stood. Ramon instinctively reached a hand out, grabbing his palm. “You've been downright fucking cryptic. And I've had just about enough of it.”

“Harry.” Cisco warned beside him. But Harry pulled his hand away and stepped beyond the table, rounding it toward her. Hope's eyes got a little wide. He knew he was scaring her. In fact, he could feel it. It was rolling off of her like the wind that found purchase through the open window. 

Ever since Coster had shown up, Hope had become absent. She'd locked herself away, to practice her skills, to become stronger. Fine. Whatever. But she knew things. Knew more than the rest of them when it came to all this Watcher bullshit. She was hiding things. Maybe not intentionally, but after their latest visit from the Fallen Watcher, Harry'd had more than enough of vague interludes and hidden meanings. 

“What did he do? What does all this,” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, “Mean?” And he swiped a few times before pressing play. Suddenly, his and Ramon's voices were heard in unison repeating what Coster had said to them. And yeah, he could understand it. He knew Cisco could, too. But what everyone else was hearing? Shit. He could only imagine. 

He watched Hope's eyes, however. Watched her swallow and look away, hues dancing over the faces around the table one more time, as though she were searching the collective reaction. When the recording stopped, she looked back at him and dropped her arms. Softly, she nodded.

“He thinks... no, he knows that you and Cisco are...” She cleared her throat a little, her face flushing lightly, eyes looking both angry and sad simultaneously. But Harry only found it more frustrating than deterring.

“Knows we're what?!” He demanded, raising his voice. She flinched lightly. But took in a deep breath, letting it out. 

“That you're each one of the Gaia-borne!” She blurted out, hands going out a little at her sides. “Users of the vital energy that sustains all life, and-and... and maintains the balance of the entire cosmos!” She was yelling now, completely wound up. Harry just blinked at her, feeling... well, like he should be laughing.

“Hope.” He said her name once, sternly. “You're talking about Hinduism.” He stated flatly. “Cosmic energy... shakti.” He sighed, reaching up and rubbing his forehead for a moment. “You read all about it, and about hundreds of other practices and religions when you first fell. Don't you remember?” He dropped his hand. It was only then he realized that Cisco had come up beside him.

“You're right, I did. And yes...” Hope crossed her arms, “It does sound like Hinduism. Probably because they're one of the few beliefs on this world who actually have it even remotely correct.” She said stubbornly. “What it doesn't say is that together,” She motioned with her head at Ramon, “Your spirits combined, the power alone...” she shook her head, steadied her tone, “You could take out entire cities. More. If you learned how to do it.”

“You make it sound like we're some sort of messed up version of Captain Planet.” Ramon said, grabbing onto Harry's hand. “We're just us, Hope. Just Cisco, just Harry.” He nudged Harry, forcing him to relax a little. “Yeah, we're a little weirded out right now, and Coster's a royal asshole, and there's this whole odd little language barrier thing going on... but we're still just us.”

“You feel different.” She said then, as though she'd known it all along but was waiting for the right moment to get it out. She stared Harry down. “You both do. You feel like something's shifted inside of each of you. But you don't know what it is. You just know that together, you're okay. And that's all that matters.” Her voice sobered considerably the more she spoke. And Harry couldn't help tightening his hand around Ramon's a little. Cisco seemed to do the same.

“Is she right?” Caitlin asked. “Do you feel different?” Harry glanced at her the same time Cisco did. Everyone was staring at them. Ramon cleared his throat.

“Okay, yes, fine. We feel different.” He sighed out.

“Why didn't you say anything?” Barry asked, brows slightly furrowed in worry. 

“Cause how the hell do you explain that?” He asked, motioning to Hope. “None of this makes any sense.” He added.

“How did you know?” Harry asked Hope, returning his attention to her. She stepped closer to him, reaching up and stroking his cheek softly. 

“Because... Coster was right about me. They didn't take away all that I was. I've tapped into so much of it since I found out that I even could. And that means... there are things I can see again. Things I... I know.” She let her hand fall. “And I know, without a doubt, that he's right about what you are. And that the both of you,” She looked at Cisco, “Are not safe as long as you and Coster are on the same Earth.”

“Wait,” Cisco stepped a little forward, “What does that mean?”

“His interest in you isn't just a passing thing.” She let out a slow breath and shook her head, peeling her eyes away and pacing toward the window again. “He's been experimenting, all this time.” There was anger in her tone. Seething, cold anger. She closed her eyes a moment. “Watchers are meant to guide, to learn. We are set apart for a reason.” When she opened her eyes, she was once again watching the world outside. “I fell because I broke that rule. We don't interfere. We can, from time to time, help in small ways. But we never interfere.” She turned then, hands balled into fists. “He fell so he could interfere whenever he pleased. And he has done such... nightmarish things. The Pinselas? Avia?” She shook her head, “Their deaths were barely a glimpse into what he's capable of.”

“What are you saying?” Iris asked, sitting sideways now to watch Hope.

“I'm saying...” she looked around the room again, “That Coster experiments with fate. He manipulates power. He twists good and magnifies evil. He plays with people and gets joy out of it. And when he's done? He leaves grief and death in his wake.” She motioned to everyone then, waving her hands idly. “Hold hands, everyone. I'll show you. Please...” She urged, stepping quickly forward. Everyone glanced around, and no one seemed to eager to do what they were asked. But Harry grit his teeth and moved, tugging Cisco with him and grabbing Iris' left hand. After that, everyone begrudgingly followed suit, until they were all in a circle with Hope, hand in hand.

And without warning, she showed them. 

She showed them everything.

Every 'experiment.'

The result was Caitlin crying, Barry bent over in his chair with his hands behind his head and a knee bouncing up and down, Iris with her face in her hands as she fought to steady her breathing, Ramon wringing his hands for dear life as strangled tears fell from his eyes, and Harry fighting the urge to completely tear the house apart while simultaneously standing frozen in place. Hope stood there looking distraught and apologetic.

“I'm sorry. But now you see. He's found a fascination with you. Both of you. You're not safe here.” She reached out and touched Cisco's back, Ramon turned to look at her, his eyes dark with grief and anger. “You're just another experiment to him. I don't know what he'll do to you, but he'll do something just as terrible as he's done to all the others. And I'm not strong enough to fight him off... not yet.” She clenched her jaw, looking up at Harry. “You have to leave, please. Go to Earth-2. Go to any Earth! Just... leave this one.”

“Leave?” Maggie's voice broke in, sounding confused and verging on panicked. Everyone turned to see her and Jesse standing beneath the archway that split the kitchen and dining room. “What the hell is going on?” She demanded, dropping her duffel bag where she stood and taking a few steps in. Jesse stepped in with her, looking just as confused, but quiet. As though she knew that something very serious was happening. That everyone was not okay. Maybe it was the anguish on their faces, left over from what Hope had just shown them all...

“Dad?” Jesse asked softly, reaching out for him, putting a hand on his upper arm. “Are you okay?” He met her eyes and nodded lightly, forcing a smile.

“I'm fine, Jesse.” He forced out. It wasn't even close to the truth. And she knew it, too. Always so damn quick. 

“Well that's bullshit.” Maggie said, crossing her arms. Harry looked over Jesse's head with a frown. 

“Language.” Both he and Cisco said at the same time, making Jesse's expression sober just a little. 

“Anyone want to tell us what's going on?” Jesse offered up, turning and letting her hand fall away from him, putting her hands on her hips. “Because you all look like you just ran a dozen puppies over with a car.”

Barry and Iris exchanged looks. Caitlin had reached out and taken Cisco's hand. And Hope was staring at Harry. He could feel her eyes, intent and burning, boring holes into his skull, trying to will him to comply. He took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Then shook his head. “I'm not leaving.” He finally said, turning his gaze toward her. He watched pain flood her features, tears sting her eyes. “ _We_ aren't leaving.” She reached for him, but he stepped back. “Do what you want. But I'm not running. I'm sick and tired of all of this! Of this whole Not Future, of the goddamn multiverse doing everything it can to just... tear this apart!” He yelled, waving a hand at everyone in the room for emphasis. “No.” He turned, rounding the table and into the kitchen.

“Harry...” Cisco called, but he didn't look back.

“NO!” He yelled over his shoulder, and yanked open the screen door, heading out onto the back porch, nearly pulling the flimsy metal off its hinges. It slapped back loudly, but he didn't wait to hear it. He was already off the porch and down the walkway.

He needed to think. Needed to breathe. Needed out of that damn dining room. Away from all those eyes and away from Hope.

If anything, maybe he just needed a bit of time to think, clear his head.

He didn't stop till he got the end of the street. The sky was a faded gray, the wind oddly cool despite the warmer temperatures. The neighborhood was mostly quiet. It was early afternoon, and most everyone was either at work or school. There was an older woman standing in her yard with a little chihuahua on a leash doing about a million circles in the same spot as she watered some sort of flowering bush. And the mailman was making his rounds on the other side of the street. Somewhere, in the distance, he could hear some sort of classical music playing in a house. And curled up on the hood of a truck parked on the far corner was a cat who looked like it had seen a fight or two and won. It was all so domestic. So... normal. 

And none of it mattered.

And all of it mattered.

Someday, all this would be gone, a memory of a memory. An echo of something that barely existed to begin with. He'd remember it, because that's how his brain worked. But to anyone else, it was just a fleeting moment with no more importance than making a left turn on the way to work. It was so much more than that, though. It was... everything he never thought he'd be allowed to have... or even witness freely. And yet there he was, standing on the corner beside a stop sign, watching normalcy play out with no strings, all because of... what, exactly?

No, not what. Who. Cisco Ramon. 

He had no doubt in his mind that all the little things that weren't little, and all the big things that were far too large to quantify, were all due to that man and the fact that he'd chosen Harry to love. There was no logic to it back then. Not really. Cisco could have had anyone he wanted. Literally, anyone at all. Harry wasn't a fool. He knew damn well Ramon was a charming, intelligent and good-looking man. But he'd seen something in Harry... taken a chance... changed everything for good. 

Call it destiny or any of the other old, rusted cliche's. No matter the term used, it was true. Harry had no idea who or even what he would be now if he hadn't fallen in love with Ramon. Or if Ramon hadn't fallen in love with him.

And yet...

There was always something trying to get between them. Something trying to tear them apart, to destroy the happiness they'd built, the family they'd created for themselves. Harry didn't really believe in karma or any of that bullshit. So the whole idea that he and Ramon were some sort of supernatural beings connected on some unseen cosmic level seemed downright preposterous to him. 

But lately, ever since this whole Not-Future business had begun, Harry had begun to wonder... maybe the multiverse was trying to tell them something. Maybe... they were defying fates that shouldn't be defied... maybe they were being punished for something... maybe Harry not dying when he was supposed to had set into motion things that never should have come to pass...

But that would mean he'd have to believe in karma and destiny and all those old cliches. And he was just too damn set in his ways to start doing that now. People made their own fates, their own destinies, their own choices. He was his own man. And so was Ramon. No one controlled them. No one told them who to be, or who to love, or how to live.

And maybe that was the ultimate problem. Maybe someone had been trying to control them, and they just weren't cooperating. That seemed a little more plausible. A little more like something he could get behind. Though the idea of some great cosmic hand in the sky trying to control them was still absurd as shit. 

“I didn't realize you could think so deeply.” Coster's familiar, and still so very unwelcome voice, met Harry's ears. He whirled around almost instantly, seeing Coster standing in the middle of the empty road, staring up at the gray sky and canopy of trees that overhung from the yards around them. “Thought you'd be all, 'science this, grumpy that, asshole this.'” He continued without looking. Harry clenched his hands closed, felt anger rise, felt his blood run cold at the same time as the memories of everything Hope had shown them came flooding back instantly. What he wouldn't give to be able to just strangle that man, just a little. Coster smiled knowingly, finally looking at him. “So she's gotten stronger, huh?” He started walking toward Harry. “Didn't take her long. I knew it wouldn't. Wish she hadn't shown you all that, though.” He motioned toward Harry, who took one long step backward, off the sidewalk, putting distance between himself and Coster. 

“What do you want?” Harry demanded coolly. Coster shrugged, not put off in the least. 

“Oh, ya know. The usual. Madness, mayhem, murder. The three M's'.” He chuckled. “No, seriously, though... right now? Just wanna have a chat. After that, we'll see.” He slipped his hands into his pockets, stopping his steps when he got to where Harry had been standing. “You were a soldier once.” He said then, making Harry raise a brow, hands uncurling slightly.

“What?” He asked in confusion. Coster nodded toward him.

“You. A soldier.” He sighed. “Not that hard, tall man. Keep up.” He leaned against the steel of the stop sign. “You did a lot of things. Had a lot of things done to you?” He asked, and Harry clenched his jaw a little. 

“What does that have to do with anything?” He demanded. Harry didn't talk about his years in the service. About the war. Or his time as a captive behind enemy lines. He didn't talk about the men he'd killed. Or the torture he'd endured. He didn't talk about the people he couldn't save. Or the other men who never made it home. He didn't talk about any of it at all. Coster smiled a little.

“It's easier than it seems, killing. At first, you hesitate. You aren't sure you can handle it. Morality and all that. But after the first time, and the second, and so on... it becomes like a habit. Like tying shoes or writing in cursive. You do it like breathing. After a while... you feel nothing.” His eyes were roaming all over Harry's face. “Was that your experience? I know you were a much younger man, then, during the war. But your career was still impressive. Your skills have stayed with you all these years. You're quite brutal when you need to be. I'd say you'd make an effective killer, if it wasn't for your fami-”

“Shut up.” Harry hissed out, moving forward, facing off with Coster without an ounce of care that the Fallen Watcher could probably kill him just by snapping his fingers. Well, probably. The Asian looking man was only an inch or so shorter than Harry, but he didn't seem intimidated in the least. If anything, he seemed satisfied. 

“Do you miss it, Doctor Wells? The feel of blood between your fingers? Of getting to watch the last bit of light go out of your victims' eyes right before they truly die? Do you dream about it? Hunger for it?” He asked, eyes searching harry's in... was that hunger? A realization dawned on him, numbing the anger for a moment, helping him think clearly. This was just a game. Coster wanted him angry. Wanted him riled up. Wanted him to do something stupid. But why? Harry slowly smiled, then stepped back. For a moment, Coster narrowed his eyes.

“Whatever game you're about, I'm not playing.” Harry simply said, then crossed his arms. Coster sighed then, pushing off the metal of the stop sign. 

“You've already been playing, Doctor Wells. Haven't you noticed?” He motioned around them. And for a very long moment, probably too long, Harry was just confused. Until he realized that there was no wind anymore. That the dog in the yard wasn't moving, and the water from the old lady's hose was frozen without being frozen. That the cat on the truck's hood was hovering in mid-air from jumping off. 

“What?” He whispered, turning. “What did you do?” He asked without looking at Coster, pacing further into the street and looking at the very frozen world around him.

“Stopped time. For a little while. So we could... play my game, as you put it.” He grinned, and Harry cast him a sideways glance. “But you're not playing, you said so yourself. I'm actually pleased, Doctor. You're going to make this fun for me. You and your husband.”

“If you go near him, I'll rip you apart.” Harry said firmly, rage seething through without having to raise his voice.

“We'll see.” Coster was still smiling. “But first?” He snapped his fingers, and it was like time just reset. Everything picked up where it left off. “You're going to have to heal from this.”

Harry didn't have time to ask, _'From what?'_

Because a horn was blaring. And the world went upside down. And he hit hard ground. 

And everything... every damn thing... hurt. 

He heard tire squealing as the Lincoln that hit him peeled away, the old lady crying out for someone to call 911 as her dog yapped relentlessly, and someone else yelling his name as Coster crouched next to him. 

Harry tried, damn did he try, to push himself up on all fours. But neither leg wanted to work, and his right arm felt like it was made of far more pieces than it should have been. He felt a hand dig into his hair, fingers curling harshly, pulling his head back, forcing his eyes up. He met Coster's stare. And for the first time, he could really see... 

He knew eyes like that. 

He'd known many men with eyes like that. During the war. Zoom. Zero Point. Those were the eyes of evil. Plain and simple. And cruelty was this evil's drug of choice. 

“I've got plans for you, and for Francisco Ramon. If you want me to leave your daughters and everyone else you love out of it, I suggest you stop fighting me, Doctor Wells. Or what Hope showed you will seem like child's play compared to what I do to them.” And without another word, he blinked out. Just like that. Disappearing completely. Just in time for Barry and Jesse to spark into view.

“Dad?!” She cried out, hands painfully on him. 

“We need to get him out of here, right now, before the police show up.” Barry said sternly, worry laced in his tone. He could hear more feet, running. But everything was just pain and dizziness now. He couldn't focus, but his body had already begun the process of healing. He couldn't tell them anything, but he desperately wanted to. Couldn't beg for them to _stop, wait, don't._

And the last thing that registered was Ramon's hands holding his face, his husband's worried expression fuzzing over in his view, and Cisco's voice whispering, “Hang on, honey...” just before the world went black and he fell into a spiraling void of nightmares, and horrifying memories repressed from a war he'd tried so very hard to forget...

* * *

“Look at me.” _He demanded, staring Private Yula down with intensity, sweat and other fluids stinging his eyes. But he didn't dare close them. Yula needed him, needed his strength, what little of it he had left._ “Yula, dammit, look at me! That's an order!” _He let out a half-strangled yell, knowing damn well their captors wouldn't hear. And even if they did, they wouldn't care. They were too busy drinking, again. Like they did most nights. The island was all but forgotten by not only the allies, but the enemy's superiors as well, it seemed. The soldiers there did what they wanted most of the time. It was only when a Colonel or political representative deigned to make an appearance that the prisoners were clothed, halfway bathed, or even fed somewhat properly._

_Private Capo Yula slowly lifted his head. The only working eye blinked before coming into focus on Wells' face. His other eye had long ago swollen shut, ruptured beneath, still leaking intraocular fluid when he would scream. His left ear was gone. Not cut off. Not chopped. But torn off by rusty bolt cutters. Apparently, it seemed like an entertaining idea at the time to their captors. There was nothing entertaining about watching a grown man piss himself in pain. The rest of Yula wasn't any better to look at. His torso was crisscrossed in knife marks and lashes. It seemed all his young bravado had gotten him the worst of the torture. Wells' torture was to be beaten with bats, chains, to feel his bones splinter, to feel his muscles tear, to feel his skin rage with bruises and sores as he fought against the cuffs that held his hands up over his head. All while having to watch as one by one, these bastards tortured and killed his men. And for what? Information they didn't have. The beachhead they were looking for had nothing to do with his unit. Try telling that to unsupervised soldiers who were as tired of this war as everyone else. No one was winning anymore. Everyone was losing. Everywhere they looked, it was blood red and full of monsters..._

“Cap.” _Yula coughed out. His voice was a barely real thing at this point. Grated like he'd swallowed a gallon of sand in one go. He was barely holding on. What little movement he made anymore was involuntary at best. The chains that hung them both from the thatched roof had long ago cut off the circulation to his hands, his fingers swollen and purple, the nails long ago dead._ “How's it swingin?” _He cracked a broken-toothed half smile, then coughed raggedly, whole body nearly seizing with the effort._

“Try to crack another joke like that and I'll shove my foot up your ass, Private.” _Wells said with a smirk after Yula calmed down. For a kid, he had a hell of a lot of spunk. But it was his mouth that had gotten him in this mess. If he'd just shut up the first time like Wells had told him to..._

“You know me, Cap. Can't let a good joke lie.” _He mumbled, hanging his head again. Things were quiet for a moment, Wells concentrating on the rise and fall of Yula's chest._ “Gonna die... ain't we.” _He wasn't asking. Wells wasn't answering. There wasn't a point. He knew the moment they'd entered this shed that they weren't coming out in one piece, or breathing._ “Wasn't how I thought...” _Yula let out a shuddered breath, and for the first time, Wells realized the kid was crying. Actually crying. Fuck._ “Coulda sworn I'd go home again.” _Double fuck._

“That's not a promise we get to make to ourselves. Not after we sign on the dotted line.” _He finally said, and Yula let out a sound. It was half exasperation, half a laugh, lifting his head a little, his one eye landing on Wells badly bruised face._

“You always this zen, Cap?” _Yula asked. Wells smiled, and it wasn't pleasant. Why would it be?_

“Shut the hell up, Yula. I'm a fucking delight.”

_And just like that, they were both laughing. It hurt, like hell. Wells could feel his broken ribs straining, feel his bruised lungs protesting. And no doubt Yula wasn't fairing any better. But they laughed till they were both coughing up blood and swaying on the ends of their chains._

“Care to let us in on the joke?” _A deep male voice asked. But he and Yula were beyond caring. The truth was, they were both going to die. The man behind that voice was going to be the one to kill them. Or one of his battle buddies. Or maybe just sepsis, at this point. Either way, they were already dead, right? So what the fuck did it matter?_

“You've always been the center of my jokes, bubble lips.” _Wells responded, then. Which just made Yula giggle, a strange gurgling sound now, but still a giggle. The soldier, who had lips far too plump for his face, finally stepped into view. And then used the baton in his hand to hit Wells on the knee, hard. He let out a strangled cry, spittle escaping his mouth, writhing momentarily on his chain as pain and rage surged through him for the millionth time. Another soldier stepped into view. This one, Wells didn't recognize. This one was clean cut, clean clothes, clean... well, everything. He seemed like he belonged in a different universe altogether. Not some fecal smelling shack in the middle of war-zone-nowhere. When bubble-lips moved to hit him again, the crisp glove of the man's right hand smacked him in the shoulder. Stopping him._

“Enough.” _His voice was calm, clear. No overuse. Even his fucking eyes seemed to sparkle._

“And you are?” _Wells asked once he composed himself enough to lift his head without wanting to puke from pain. The man smiled, then chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled a gun off his hip. He turned it in his palm quietly. Then, without looking, he simply aimed it at Yula... and pulled the trigger._

_Wells had thought he'd heard loud._

_Thought he knew what loud was._

_But the bullet that went through Yula's only good eye was louder than anything he'd ever known._

_For a very real moment, time slowed down. Yula's head lolled back. Brain matter and blood dripped to the already blood and debris soaked floor. The Clean Man holstered his gun, then just stood there, staring at Wells... waiting._

“I'm going to kill you...” _Wells found himself saying, as if his thoughts had a direct connection to his mouth and there simply was no stop, no filter. Not anymore. He turned his eyes to the man before him, who was just standing there. And then the Clean Man smiled._

“Perhaps.” _He began walking away, then, bubble-lips following already having gone at some point._ “But not today.” _He stopped at the entrance, which was really just a ratty blanket hung by rusted nails. He pulled it aside, then glanced back._ “Today, you get to live with the smell of death. Tonight, you sleep in it. Tomorrow...” _He shrugged,_ “You'll talk. Or I'll kill another of your men. And another. Till there's no room in here for you to breathe. Just body upon body. Until you tell me what I want to know, Captain Wells.”

_Then nothing. Then he was gone. Then it was silent._

_Wells couldn't even hear the raucous soldiers outside, drinking and carrying on._

_Because it was still too loud inside the hut._

_The drip-drip-dripping of brain matter and other things falling from Yula's body, filling Wells' ears. Filling Wells' blood with rage. Filling his soul with hunger, thirst, need... for revenge._

_He was sure when he came into that hut that he was going to die by the hands of a monster. He'd accepted it. Prepared himself for it. It was going to be his fate. And he'd known it. But instead?_

_The monsters just made a fatal mistake.... and turned him into the worst monster of all._

_They just hadn't realized it yet..._

 

* * *

“Oh god...” Cisco whispered for what must have been the dozenth time, holding his face in his hands, sitting on his ass against the wall. His whole body was buzzing with energy he didn't want. He couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop the residual feel of pain in his body. There was an ache everywhere, old and familiar and terrible and he didn't want it. He knew it wasn't his. Knew it belonged to Harry. But that didn't make it any less awful. Because what he'd seen, what he'd experienced through Harry's eyes... through his memories? He let out a sob at the thought, and Caitlin tightened her hold on him.

She was sitting by his side, an arm around his shoulders, holding him close against her. Maggie was against his other side, arms curled around his torso, clinging to him. They didn't know what he'd seen. He hadn't really told them much beyond, 'Harry... in the war... he was a prisoner... oh god... so much pain,' before he fell to his knees, overwhelmed by all of the emotion and physical affect the vibe had had on him. 

Neither one of them said anything after that. They just held him. Truth was, he was grateful for it. Because he really, really didn't want to be left alone just then. “Why...” he finally mumbled, letting his hands fall, his face flush and wet, his eyes red and rimmed with tears. He gripped a hand on to either of them. “Why didn't he tell me any of this?” He asked, voice thick with his tears. “I mean, he told me about the war. Told me he served.” He shook his head, “But not any of this.”

Jesse was sitting on the bed at her father's side, practically hugging his hand into her form. She was watching everything with a terrible quietness, eyes wet and tired. “He wanted to forget.” She said softly, pulling Cisco's eyes to her. “He never talked about it to anyone. Not even Mom.” She offered. “But I don't understand...” she looked over at her unconscious father. He'd pretty much healed all the injuries from being hit by the car. It had exhausted him. He was out like a light. Jesse searched his features. “Why would he be dreaming about that now?”

“Coster made him think of it.” Hope said from his other side, her fingers carding lightly through his hair, eyes as tired as Jesse's. “He's trying to see what buttons... that he can push.” She looked over at Cisco. “I'm so sorry. I... I tried to warn you.”

Cisco shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment. “What good does this do?” He got out, taking in a deep breath and releasing it. “Drudging up old pain?” He looked at Harry's outline then. “He can't break Harry that way.” He said firmly, and knew it. Knew it with everything he was. He started to stand up, Caitlin and Maggie moving with him, but stepping out of his way as he moved back toward Harry. He reached forward, to touch his husband, but paused... wary. Afraid that he'd vibe that horrible memory again. But... he needed to touch him, needed to feel him beneath his hand. He put his palm flat on Harry's chest, the tall man's ribcage expanding and contracting with each breath. Cisco let out a breath of his own. “Coster doesn't know a damn thing about Harry.” He looked at Hope, clenching his jaw a little. “And Harry's right. We're not running from this.”

“What?” Hope looked taken back, moving her hand away from Harry. “Even after what just happened, you won't leave? He could have died!” She exclaimed. “And right now, as we speak, he's dreaming about horrors he's survived... horrors he shouldn't have to relive. All because Coster is running an experiment with both of you.”

“Both of us?” Cisco asked, then shook his head. “He hasn't done anything to me. So far, he's only messed with Harry.”

“You're wrong about that. Why do you think you vibed what Harry's seeing?” She asked, crossing her arms defiantly. “You touch him all the time. You're linked to him at the deepest level, and yet you don't vibe him unless he's in trouble. Or unless someone triggers you to do so.”

“Why would Coster care if I see this or not?” He demanded, feeling Caitlin's presence at his side as she checked Harry's monitor. 

“Because he wants you to lose perspective of who we know Harry to be.” She stared Cisco down, standing her ground. But for some reason, all Cisco could do... was laugh. 

It bubbled up through his chest and down his throat and out of his mouth before he could stop it, till he was bent over, palms flat on Harry's gurney, head hung. He could feel everyone watching him, probably in shock, until he managed to compose himself, standing up straight.

“Are... are you delirious?” Hope asked seriously. But he just shook his head with a smile.

“I know who Harry was.” He nodded easily. “And I know who he is.” He reached out and took Harry's hand with a deep breath, letting the air expel slowly. “And I know damn well who he probably would have been if we hadn't found each other.” He held Harry's hand in both of his. “So if this is the game Coster wants to play, it's not one he's going to win. Because I know the darkness in Harry. And I'm okay with it. I've seen every inch of it. And I love the man anyway.”

For a very quiet, rather strangely comfortable moment, Hope said nothing. No one did anything. Then Hope just nodded. “Prepare yourself, then. Because that first vibe was nothing compared to what you'll vibe next.”

“Bring it on.” Cisco said, and sat in the chair beside the gurney without letting go of Harry's hand. He looked around the room. And it occurred to him that he didn't see fear in Maggie's eyes, or Jesse's. Just love. That it was pride he saw in Caitlin's. That it was, of all things, hope he saw in Hope's. 

Coster had no idea what he was getting himself into. But if this was the beginning of his game, Cisco was sure as hell going to win this round. He had to. For all the faces in the room reflected back at him. And for the man out cold at his side, needing him to hold on through the worst. Because if there was one thing Cisco Ramon knew about the non-stop cliché of love, it was that Harry was who he was now because Cisco loved him. 

Because that's what love did. It made people more than they were. More than they thought they ever could be. And there was not a day that went by that Harry didn't do the same for him. It was a never-ending, give and take, beautiful cycle between them. Something Coster would never understand. 

Because there were men, there were monsters. And then there was just plain evil, like Coster. 

Only one of those things could never know how to love...

* * *

_'Only the dead have seen the end of war...'_

* * *

_Everything shook._

_The world was a torrent of minor earthquakes, one after the other with little room to breathe in-between as the island was shelled. The prisoners had been written off. Condemned long ago. There was truly no hope for them now. But Wells was far beyond thinking of hope. Far beyond thinking of rescue. The only thing he wanted now, the only thing he cared about, was getting his hands dirty while he still could._

_The last morter had taken out half the hut. Caved the roof in. Brought his chains down. Set him loose and taken out his guards at the same time. They were just charred pieces of flesh now, strewn about in haphazard lumps. Once upon a time, the sight might have made him wretch. But now? There was just a numbness, with a slight taste of anger. Part of him wanted to be the one to tear them apart. But he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He was going to take an out for what it was. And he rifled through their remains for weapons and ammo like he was rooting for vegetables._

_Every muscle protested. Every broken rib, his split knee, his busted shoulder, his probably broken vertebrae protested. And no doubt the internal bleeding he'd been brewing for awhile. But he ignored all of it. Stamped down the pain. Swallowed it whole. Focused on the burning in his chest instead. That was something far more useful. The hunger, the rage. It hadn't left him since Yula died. He wouldn't let it. After all, it was all he had left._

_The island itself was chaos. It was every man for himself at this point. The enemy was on the run. They hadn't counted on the prisoners uprising the moment the island came under attack. There was something to be said for the comfort of power. It made men lazy, sloppy, reckless. The enemy was paying for that with their lives, dealing now with men who had nothing to lose._

_It was all blood and fire and shelling. It was men releasing months of unspent rage and anguish. But as Wells took stock of the commotion around him, he realized it was more than that. Hope was fueling the fight, as well. His fellow soldiers saw freedom in their future, saw the battleships on the shores and thought 'rescue.' They were fighting for home, country, to get the hell out of hell. Maybe they were right. The shells never really did hit anywhere heavily populated by prisoners. Maybe this was a rescue._

_Still..._

_It didn't matter._

_He'd made a promise, listening to the drip-drip-drip of Yula's blood. He was going to find the Clean Man, and kill him. Slowly, if possible. Because, as it turned out, the Clean Man was Colonel Masters Everett. King of the hill on this island. And he'd taken a keen interest in Wells, somehow thinking he'd known much more than he did. Why? Because he was a good leader. That was all._ 'Soldiers won't follow an ignorant man, Captain Wells. I feel you have far more information to offer than you say you do.' _It didn't matter that Wells didn't know shit. That he was just a grunt like the rest of his men. That he followed orders like everyone else. Everett had made up his mind. The rest was written in the blood of four more men, over weeks of torture he was helpless to stop. He'd remember all of their names for the rest of his life, with Yula at the top of the list. All because the Clean Man had a hard-on for information that just didn't exist._

_It didn't take him long to find Everett. He was doing what all men like him did. Running. Hiding. He was smart enough to hide in a prisoner's barracks. He'd figured out they weren't being shelled. Wells found him pacing, clutching his gun, constantly checking out the barred windows._

“Coward.” _Wells found himself saying, calmer than he thought possible. The Clean Man nearly jumped out of his skin, whirling around, aiming his gun at him. A strange expression overcoming his face when he realized who was standing before him._

“Captain Wells. You're alive.” _He replied shakily, then stretched out a light smile that didn't reach his eyes. Just before he pulled the trigger. But Wells saw it coming. Felt it in his joints. He pulled his trigger first. The sound of the combined guns going off was explosive in the empty space, echoing off the walls._

_Everett went back, tumbling over a bed, his gun flying away from him as Wells' bullet smashed into his shoulder. But the Clean Man's bullet hit home, too. Right into one of Wells' already damaged ribs. Fuck. The pain rampaged through him, brought him to his knees, had him coughing up blood in a torrent of unimaginable pain. But he had to pull himself together. Had to... had to get back up... couldn't let Everett live... couldn't..._

_He pushed himself up, gun still somehow in his hand, and he forced himself forward. A slow death wouldn't be in the cards, but he could still look Everett in the eyes, watch the light go out when he ended him._ “No, no please!” _Everett begged, clutching his shoulder, scooting backward, pushing himself away. Wells just raised his gun._

“Yula...” _He sputtered, blood leaking from his lips, confusion crossing Everett's pained face,_ “Junip, Riker, Pauley, Bolter!” _He yelled. The Clean Man was cringing, hands out. Wells could feel tears streaming down his face, hot and unwanted._ “Those were their names...”

“I... I don't...”

“SAY THEIR NAMES!” _Wells yelled. Everett winced, pushing back more till he hit the wall, leaning into it. He nodded hastily._

“Y-Yula. Junip... uh.. Ri...” He faltered.

“Riker.” _Wells growled._

“Riker, Pauley. And B-Bolter.” _Everett finished, breathing heavily. Wells stared him down._

“Say my name, one more time.” _He whispered. The Clean Man swallowed._

“Captain Wells.” _He didn't even hesitate this time._

“Remember those names in hell.” _Wells said. And pulled the trigger. It was one of the most satisfyingly deafening sounds he had ever heard. Everett's head whipped back, smacking into the wall, blood and brain matter painting a chunky line as his body slid the short way to the floor, eyes wide open, empty. Cold._

_The gun fell from Wells' hand shortly after that. He didn't need it anymore. He paced away, till his knee gave out and his body hit the cold floor. Exhaustion claimed him after that. And he focused on the pain again. Let that be his comfort. His price to pay. He'd see Everett in hell soon enough. But for now, he'd have to suffer just a little bit longer. Might as well._

_Or that was the idea... till hands grabbed him, hoisted him up, dragged him away._

_The other prisoners had been right all along. They'd fought for the right reasons. It really had been a rescue._

_And as the boats whisked them all away from the island toward the ships, Wells couldn't help but feel like it was all wrong. Too little, too late. There were hundreds of men who wouldn't be on these boats. Their bodies burned or thrown into the ocean long ago. Five of whom whose ghosts would haunt him forever..._

_Just before unconsciousness finally deigned to wash over him, he couldn't help but wish they'd left him on that island to die, too..._

* * *

_'Congratulations. You've survived the war. Now live with the trauma...'_

* * *

When Harry had woken up, he was instantly different. 

There was something in his eyes... a heaviness Cisco had never seen before. And at first, Harry had tried to act like an earthquake hadn't come through and destroyed his entire foundation. But the memories had rampaged through his mind while he was out, ripped up the old scars of war, made them fresh and new. 

And Cisco had seen it all. Telling Harry that was so much harder than he'd counted on. Harry grew quiet. Withdrawn. He couldn't even look Cisco in the eye, wouldn't talk to anyone. Didn't even give one-word sentences. And he wouldn't let anyone touch him, either. Not even Jesse. 

No one knew what to say or do. Cisco had never felt so useless or lost. What could he possibly say to make this okay? What he'd seen... what he now knew that Harry had lived through... there weren't words. There was nothing that could make that better. How he had gotten through it all the first time was beyond Cisco. And it only affirmed for him something he'd always known about Harry: he was a damn strong man. Even if he didn't know it right then.

Harry's eyes were almost the worst part about it all. Though his demeanor spoke myriads, it was the pain, the immense regret and full-blown shame in his eyes that said everything else. It was all too much to witness. Seeing everything Harry had gone through, felt, knowing what he'd thought... it was almost nothing compared to what Cisco saw now. Harry blamed himself back then for the deaths of his men. It didn't matter that he'd been tortured, too. Or that there was really nothing he could have done. When it was all over, wanting to die, believing he deserved to die with them, seemed logical to Harry. Surviving seemed so much more like hell. 

But if he hadn't survived, he wouldn't be here now. And that would mean Cisco wouldn't have him. Jesse wouldn't exist. Maggie would probably be dead. The list went on. Harry Wells being alive was far better than the alternative. And Cisco really, really needed to get him to see that again. 

It took him awhile to find him. They hadn't left the labs since Coster showed up, everyone pretty much decided that it would be safer if they didn't go home. At least for now. Harry hadn't even argued the point. Since then, he'd kept as much distance from everyone as possible. He didn't even sleep in the same room as Cisco. Like he was afraid if he so much as breathed on him, he might just see more of those terrible memories. So finding Harry in the room they normally shared together when they were forced to stay at the labs was a little surprising.

He was standing near the only window in the room, arms crossed, staring out. There was no expression on his face, but Cisco could read the pain in his eyes so clearly, it practically screamed for Harry. He didn't react to Cisco coming into the room, not at first anyway. Not until Cisco breached the silence.

“Harry...” Cisco whispered, almost afraid to break the quiet. He didn't get too close. He knew Harry didn't want to be touched. “Please talk to me.” Harry closed his eyes in response, let his arms fall, then sort of teetered forward till his forehead rested on the windowpane. 

“There's nothing to talk about.” He finally said. It was the first time Cisco had heard his voice in two days. And it was so short and to the point, so like him, that it almost made Cisco want to smile. 

“Well that's crap.” He said instead. Then leaned against the wall to the side of the window. Harry opened his eyes but didn't look at him. 

“You saw.” He pulled his head away, then wiped at his forehead with one hand. “The rest is mute.” He began to turn, as if to move away from him. But Cisco instinctively reached out. Grabbed onto his arm firmly. Harry's whole body went rigid. He squeezed his eyes shut, his lips went tight. Like he was... afraid. Afraid that Cisco would vibe.

“Harry...” Cisco straightened up, eased his hand, but moved closer. He sighed, shaking his head a little. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” He whispered, reaching up and slipping his hand onto Harry's face. He watched as Harry's face softened, his eyes opened. The brilliant blues were alit, so full of pain. “I know you never wanted me to see any of that. That all you wanted to do was forget it all. And I get it. I understand why.” He moved closer, pressing their torsos together, curling his other hand against Harry's ribs. “But it's done. And I'm not...” he shook his head, searching Harry's eyes, “I'm not afraid of seeing more. It doesn't change anything, you know that, right? None of it.”

“It...” he cleared his throat a little, reaching up slowly, resting his hands warmly on Cisco's hips, “It doesn't?” He asked. And he truly sounded unsure. Like all that awfulness, all that blood and rage and pain should make Harry seem terrible somehow. That the fact he survived all of that should make him some sort of monster. Cisco took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then reached down to the edge of Harry's S.T.A.R. Labs t-shirt and lifted it. For a moment, Harry just looked confused and very concerned. But when Cisco slipped his fingers warmly over the circular scar on Harry's ribs, his face sobered, softened. 

“Not even a little.” Cisco replied, smiling softly. “I love you, honey. Old wounds and all.” His smile widened, “I guess you're still stuck with me.” Harry closed his eyes, shook his head a little, then let out a breath and let his head rest against Cisco's. 

“They... they died. And I didn't.” He whispered. And the sound was so heartwrenchingly awful. It was so long ago, that war. That POW camp no longer existed. That island was a wildlife sanctuary now, according to Jesse. But in Harry's mind now, thanks to Coster, all those old faces, old wounds, old deaths were brand new again. That hell was real again. And Harry, being Harry, was blaming himself. He'd been their commanding officer. He was supposed to keep them safe. Instead, they'd died and he'd gotten out with months of physical therapy and a handful of medals he didn't want. Add some major PTSD he never dealt with on top of all that, and you got the beginnings of the man everyone knew today. The man Cisco loved relentlessly. The man who was now crying.

Cisco felt Harry's arms tighten around him, pull him closer, felt a sob escape Harry's chest as he buried his face into Cisco's hair. And he held him right back, whispered to him, stroked his back, cried, too. He couldn't help it, because he understood it. 

He was also honored by it.

No one really saw this part of Harry. The broken-but-pieced-together-with-duct-tape-and-safety-pins part of him. But Cisco did. Cisco saw it, ran his hands all over it, kissed every inch of it, loved every jagged edge of it. Because it was Harry's. And Harry belonged to him.

That probably sounded possessive. It was in a way. But it was also true. Harry had gifted himself, scars and all, to Cisco a long time ago. There was no way he was letting him go now, no way he'd ever let anyone else get their hands on him... on this. No one else would love Harry like he did. He was certain of it. Because no one else could accept it. No one else could look at Harry and see every damn good thing worth fighting for.

“There's nothing I can say,” Cisco whispered, his voice slightly choked, “To make this better. But I'm here, Harry. We're all here.” He kept holding on, Harry's arms tight around him. “You don't have to do this alone.” That made a strangled sob come out of Harry's mouth and Cisco felt his own tears come harder, faster. The two of them like this were a mess. But this was real. Pain like this didn't just go away with a kiss and a band-aid. Ghosts didn't just disappear because someone said 'please.' And Cisco hurt because Harry hurt. His Harry. The love of his life. His everything. 

Eventually, Cisco dragged Harry to the bed, laid him down. He held him from behind, curled up around him, buried his face into the back of Harry's head, kissed the skin of his neck, continued to stroke the scars on his torso beneath his shirt. And Harry let him, completely subdued by the echoes of trauma renewed by Coster's cruelty. 

In the dark, in the quiet, Harry breathed. He let Cisco tend to him, soften him up, treat him like something delicate and worthy, even though Cisco knew Harry didn't think of himself that way. At least not right that moment. He would again, someday. In a small way. Cisco'd make sure of it, cause that was his job as super-awesome-husband-extraordinaire, right? 

“I'm sorry.” Harry whispered, shifting slightly in Cisco's hold, turning his head. Cisco lifted his own, catching Harry's illuminated gaze. It was tired. The sort of tired that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion, and everything to do with being wrung out to emotional limits. Cisco brought his hand up out of Harry's shirt and cupped his cheek. 

“You don't have a single damn thing to be sorry for.” Cisco chided softly, expression firm. Harry turned more, till he was on his back, Cisco settling into him, sort of half on top of him, their eyes locked every second. “You didn't do anything wrong, you hear me?”

“Didn't I?” He reached up, stroking some of Cisco's hair behind his hair, softly calloused fingers leaving a gentle trail on his skin. “I should have shared all that with you... a long time ago. But I was...” he let his hand fall to his stomach, sighed through his nostrils. “I was ashamed. Guilty. I still am.”

“That's survivor's guilt, Harry.” He soothed, stroking Harry's hair, watched his eyes dance back and forth on his own. “They didn't make it, I know. Yula and the others didn't. But you and hundreds of others lived. And you think that makes you bad somehow, that you should have died with them? Honey, the truth is...” he shook his head a little, “The truth is, it was war. There's no rhyme or reason to any of it. Evil happened. Real, terrible evil. Good men died. So did bad. And good men... they lived, too.”

“Good men...” Harry whispered, eyes rimmed with tears again. Cisco ran a thumb gently at the edge of his left eye. “You always seem to lump me in with that group.” Cisco smiled at that. 

“You'll never get me to believe you're anything but good, Harry.” He leaned forward and placed a soft, chaste kiss on Harry's warm lips. “So stop trying. Because you're good. And you're mine. Like I said... none of this changes anything. Not. A. Single. Damn. Thing.” He emphasized every word, trying so hard to drive it home. Needing Harry to feel it. Harry closed his eyes, let those silent tears fall, trailing down the sides of his face. Cisco leaned into them, kissed them away, trailed his kisses back to Harry's lips. Then curled into him, held him again, slipped his hand back beneath Harry's shirt to touch his scars. “Coster's not going to win.” Cisco finally said, after Harry's breathing had leveled out and the cool air had brought the room down to a more comfortable temperature. He felt Harry's arms tighten a little around him and settle again.

“You... you don't want to leave.” Harry said, not asking. 

“We're not running.” He lifted his head, looking at Harry as half of his hair fell into his view. Harry stared at him, blinking softly. Then reached up and caught the wayward strands in his fingers. “That's not what we do, right? You said so yourself.” Cisco smiled. 

And slowly, he saw it form. A determined glint, sparked in the depths of Harry's bright blues. It made Cisco smile that much brighter. Harry reached up with his other hand in response, catching Cisco's face in both hands and urging him down. The kiss wasn't chaste this time. It was tender, to be sure. But the spark in Harry's eyes came forth in the exchange between their mouths, lighting something wonderfully familiar in Cisco's chest. 

He'd never quite had a name for it. It had been there since the very first kiss. A living, immense energy all their own, that came forth whenever they connected in a way that no one else could. Sometimes with words. Sometimes with looks. Sometimes with just a touch. And sometimes, like now, with a kiss that said it all. 

Harry was on board to fight. Because fighting was in his blood. It was what he was good at. Whether it was with his brains or his fists or even his heart, Harry was a fighter through and through. He didn't back down, even when he was on his last leg. He fought till he didn't have an ounce of fight left, and then he fought some more. 

They settled into that quiet again, Harry's heart still heavy, but not as much as Coster may have hoped for. And Cisco meant it when he said nothing had changed. If anything, he only loved his husband more because of what he'd seen. Because he understood more. They fell asleep in each other's arms, tired and wanting a respite from all the chaos. Respite they wouldn't get for... shit, who knew how long. But honestly, Cisco was okay with that. Oddly enough.

He watched Harry for a long time in the dark, his husband sleeping as he almost habitually now stroked the scars beneath Harry's shirt, till he too needed to sleep, getting as close to Harry as he possibly could, his face resting softly against Harry's. “I love you.” He whispered, his lips brushing the stubble on Harry's cheek, just before he closed his eyes. “We've got this...” He sighed out. And finally, finally... let sleep take him, too.

* * *

There were shadows beneath his eyes. Illuminated like his hues perpetually were, it made the circles that much darker, made his skin seem paler. The nightmares didn't seem to want to end. It had been five nights of this, since he'd been hit by the car. As hard as he fought sleep at some points, it was as though he had no control over it. At some point, his brain just shut down and he was out, the memories taking over and dragging both him and Cisco through various points of a blood-filled hell he wanted nothing more to do with. 

And yes, Cisco stayed through all of it. He held him through every nightmare, calmed him when he woke up yelling or flailing, talked him through the worst of it. Every reason he shouldn't, every reason Ramon should have pulled away didn't seem to register to Cisco. He let himself live through Harry's own personal past hell, let himself see a part of Harry he'd never meant for anyone to see. And because of it, Ramon was just as exhausted as Harry was.

The only difference was that Harry had actually lived through all of this before. Memories, which was really all these were, were just a pale reminder. Though somehow remarkably painful, either way. 

“What if we make some sort of neural inhibitor.” Ramon mused from behind him. He was laying on his stomach, head and arms hanging off the bed. “If anything, we might be able to take an uninterrupted nap.” He giggled after that, shoulders moving. “Ah, naps. What a dream those would be.” Harry didn't turn around to look at him. This wouldn't be the first time they'd talked about some way to stop the nightmares. But every conversation ended with the same conclusion: they were stuck with them. 

Whatever floodgate Coster had opened in Harry's mind, they just had to ride out the worst of it. Eventually, it would ease up. It had to. Hope seemed to agree. Though she was insistent on trying to ease it for Harry. Use her powers on him. She was sincere that she knew what she was doing with many things now, that she'd tapped into a great deal of what she'd lost. But the idea of any Watcher doing anything to him right now made Harry's gut hurt. He'd had just about enough of people messing with his... well, anything.

Harry finished tucking in his shirt and let out a sigh. Then turned away from the tall mirror on the wall, stopping before Cisco and crouching, smoothing a hand through his hair. “You should sleep.” He said softly. Ramon lifted his head, frowning lightly. 

“Nu-uh. We're in this together, remember? We had a deal. You tired, me tired. Ugh.” He let his head flop back down, making Harry smile a little. He kissed the top of Cisco's head. 

“You're a nut. And I still want you to sleep.” He stood up, taking both of Cisco's arms and turning his body until he was more longwise on the bed. Ramon whined.

“I don't wanna.” He pouted, but his eyes were blinking lazily. 

“I don't care.” Harry said, sitting on the side of the bed, leaning his hip into Ramon's side. “There's no point in both of us being exhausted. One of us needs to be on the top of our game.” He stroked Cisco's hair out of his face. Ramon smiled.

“Speak for yourself, scruffy.” He reached up and slid a finger down the stubble on Harry's cheek. “I'm always on my game.” He let his hand fall to Harry's lap. Harry just shook his head. 

“Sleep.” Harry ordered, one firm word without room for argument. Ramon rolled his eyes a little, but relented when Harry leaned over and pressed their mouths together. 

“Fine. But only for a little while.” Cisco said softly, letting Harry up, then rolling onto his stomach and practically strangling the pillow into submission before letting a deep sigh escape and closing his eyes. “Hate sleeping... without you.” He added quietly. Harry watched him for a moment, then dragged the blanket at the end of the bed up over his form, setting it in place before placing one more kiss at his temple.

“Love you.” He whispered, then left the room, closing the door behind him, pausing with his hand on the door handle. The Labs were quiet for the most part. It was still early. No one else would be showing up for at least an hour and a half. The halls were bathed in shadow, minimal lighting. Nothing unusual about them, but even as he let his hand slip away from the door, he couldn't help but feel an odd comfort around the patches of dark that he couldn't place. It had been that way since Coster had shown up in their living room, speaking that language no one else but Harry and Ramon seemed to understand. He couldn't explain it and hadn't mentioned it to anyone. Mostly because he hadn't realized it was a pattern till recently. 

He saw the pattern now. Felt it. Where there were shadows, he was... at ease. He felt safe. In control. And it was the strangest goddamn thing. Not that anything that was happening lately wasn't strange. It was just another bit to add to the lot.

He didn't turn any lights on as he made his way to the company kitchen, only pausing for a moment when he heard the tell-tale patter of Axiom's feet on the hard floors. The dog always seemed to know when he was awake. He'd come rushing to Harry's side, tail swinging. He never left the labs with Maggie and Jesse, insisting on staying with him and Cisco. But he didn't stay in the room with them at night. 

He wandered the halls, according to the security footage. Like a real guard dog. It was both endearing and odd. Because no one had trained him to do it. And no one could figure out how he got from floor to floor, either. It wasn't like a dog could use an elevator or open stairway doors. Though that was a mystery for another time. They had better things to worry about. “Mornin, mutt.” Harry grumbled, his voice barely cracking the quiet as the pit-bull reached his side, lifting his head as Harry scratched between his ears. 

The kitchen lights came on automatically as they stepped in, Harry wincing lightly at the onslaught but going straight for the coffee machine. Axiom stopped beside the refrigerator, like usual, sitting down and waiting for his breakfast. It figured that Harry had demanded that Maggie take care of the dog, and somehow he'd ended up being the one to do it. Though that might have had to do something with the fact the dog refused to be apart from him for very long. The mutt threw active fits when Maggie tried to take him away from the Labs. Like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum. 'I guess he's decided you're his person, Dad.' Jesse had remarked. The idea made Harry groan out loud, and Ramon laugh. The mutt had just wagged his tail in agreement. 

Once the coffee was brewing, he pulled out a pack of gourmet dog food from the fridge. It was ridiculous, but it's what the girls had bought Axiom. Why the mutt couldn't eat like other dogs was beyond Harry. But apparently Maggie wanted 'only the best' for him. Harry was pretty sure Axiom wouldn't give a shit either way, considering he'd caught him rifling through the trash more than once. Harry plopped the meat and gravy mix onto a plate and set it down. “You eat better than I do.” He said with a sigh, then crossed his arms, leaning his rear against the counter, just watching the dog eat. Axiom didn't just dive into it like other dogs might have. He was actually a pretty clean eater. He took his time and then licked everything clean without spilling anything on the floor or shoving the plate around. 

By the time he was finished, the coffee was done brewing. And he looked up at Harry with a calm, easy expression, eyes watching him like he was thinking very clearly about something. Harry furrowed his brows momentarily. “What's your story, huh?” He asked, turning to grab a mug. He poured himself a cup, turning back to see the dog standing and still watching him intently. He set the cup down and crouched before the dog, running his hands over the dog's shoulders and meeting Axiom's unique gaze. “I'd swear there's more going on up there than just squirrels and butt sniffing.” He said softly. Axiom's tale swung twice in response. “Wonder what you could say about all this craziness if you could talk.” Harry mused, smiling a little, before standing up and grabbing his mug.

“You'd be surprised.” Coster's voice had Harry turning quickly, coffee dropped instinctively. The cup clattered to the ground, the hot liquid getting everywhere. Axiom began barking, hackles up as he put himself between Harry and Coster. The Asian looking man was sitting at the table, one ankle over the opposite knee, like he'd been sitting there far longer than a mere few seconds. Axiom made to move forward, but Harry snapped his fingers twice and the dog just stopped in his tracks, growling low, head poised to strike. “See?” Coster smiled. 

“Get out.” Harry said firmly, hands moving to fists at his sides. Coster waved a hand dismissively at him.

“Yes, yes. Sure thing. But first, we should talk.”

“You mean like last time, when you had me run over by a fucking car?” Harry narrowed his gaze but didn't move from where he was standing. 

“I admit, the car was a bit overboard. More for my amusement than anything. Besides, I knew you'd survive it.”

“Let me push you in front of a semi, then we'll see how amusing it is.” Harry hissed. Coster chuckled. 

“We can trade barbs if you'd like, or we can discuss what's going on,” He pointed toward Harry's head, “Up there.” Harry closed his mouth tightly, jaw clenching. Axiom backed slightly, till he could lean a little into Harry's leg. But he was still growling softly, a never-ending chorus that was somehow comforting. He could feel it vibrating through Axiom's chest, right into his leg. “No witty comment?” Coster let his foot go to the floor, leaning forward on his knees, hands clasped lazily. “Come on, you must have questions.”

“Get out.” Harry repeated his earlier order. He wasn't going to give Coster a further inch if he could help it. But all the Fallen Watcher did in reply was nod a little, then stand. Harry instinctively backed up, Axiom following suit, refusing to leave his side.

“You and that husband of yours are... not what I expected, you know that?” Coster mused out loud, pacing around the table, dragging his fingers over the top of it. “Most humans are easy to figure out. They're all for themselves. Selfish, to an extent. When things are kept from them, they get angry. When they see the darker side of someone they love, they tend to pull away.” He stopped pacing over by a shelf that had plates and bowls on it. “But you two?” He shook his head, turning to look at Harry. “You two don't follow suit. If anything, you pull closer together. Your bond gets stronger. It's quite intriguing, actually.”

“What do you want?” Harry found himself asking against his better judgment. Because, honestly, none of this made much sense to him. “Are you messing with us because you're interested in who we are or what we are?” Harry demanded, “Make up your damn mind.”

“Both, actually.” Coster smiled. “At first, it was just the idea that you two were Gaia-borne. That alone is...” He sucked in a breath, “Well, fucking fantastic. A once in a lifetime opportunity, really. Tapping into that sort of unbridled power? Shit!” He chuckled. Then he motioned to Harry. “But then I looked into your minds, read into your pasts. There's absolutely no logical reason you two should be soulmates. And yet,” he shrugged, “Here you are. Color me curious. I can't help but want to test those waters.”

“Soulmates.” Harry stated calmly. And for some strange reason, the word didn't fall flat in his mouth. It didn't sound forced or joked. He looked away from Coster for a moment, eyes drifting as the word settled in his head. He didn't believe in stuff like that... right? And yet, the word seemed fitting, seemed right... and all too real in explaining himself and Ramon. 

“Don't tell me you never pieced that together?” Coster asked, humor evident. Harry looked back at him. “Ever the scientist, aren't you, Doctor Wells. How unsettling it must be to have your views on existence turned inside out like this.” He paced toward him, Axiom's growl growing slightly louder. Harry touched the back of the dog's head. “You and Francisco Ramon are soulmates. The real deal, despite every indicator that should dictate otherwise. What connects you isn't just love.” He nearly rolled his eyes at the word 'love,' “It's literally your souls. And the bond began forming the day you met. You were, as the old songs say, 'Meant to be!'” He put his hands up in flourish. “Which makes sense why this,” he motioned toward Harry's head, “Isn't going to get me anywhere.”

“Then make it stop.” He growled out, feeling a rush of urgency. “If it serves no purpose in your... experiment... then end it.” Coster narrowed his gaze, watching Harry curiously. There was far too much quiet, then. And the urgency in Harry built. He reminded himself to breathe, to hold on, wait. Calm... be calm. And out of the corner of his eye, he could have sworn he saw the shadows in the hall move of their own volition...

“Alright.” Coster reached forward and simply tapped Harry in the head with one finger.

And every goddamn inch of his skull felt like it caved in. He cried out, falling backward, hands going to his head. Axiom launched forward, only to meet empty air. The pain went away as quickly as it had come, and suddenly Coster was in the doorway. Harry heaved a breath, pushing himself against the cabinets, wide-eyed. Axiom went to go after Coster again. “Axiom, no!” He put a hand out. And the dog stopped, looked back at him.

Coster was looking out into the hallway, a strange expression on his face. “You're growing faster than you should be able to.” He looked over his shoulder at Harry, “Much faster.” He added, confusion filling Harry until motion in the hallway caught his attention. 

At first, he thought it was a trick of the light. Or maybe he'd imagined. But the calmer he got, the more he realized what was happening...

He pushed himself to his feet, wandered toward the doorway, but kept his distance from Coster as he peered into the mostly dark hallway.

“What the fuck...” Harry mumbled.

“Eloquent.” Coster smiled, turning to look at him. “Welcome to your new reality, Doctor Wells.” And just like that, Coster was gone, leaving Harry standing with Axiom at his side, both of them watching the hallway...

Watching the shadows move every time Harry breathed...

**Author's Note:**

> (To be continued...)


End file.
